


dialogues

by inverse



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:49:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverse/pseuds/inverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of conversations. for kurodai week 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. test run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 1: same team.

1.

Kuroo found himself resting with Karasuno’s captain at the side of the gymnasium in between games. The loud, enthusiastic shorty from the other team had made such an incessant demand for yet another match that the coaches didn’t feel up to disappointing him, and everyone else was okay with the idea as long as Nekoma could still catch their return trip on time, much to Kenma’s chagrin.

“Good game,” Kuroo remarked, passing Sawamura a bottle of water. “You guys played pretty well. Wasn’t what I was expecting at all since I’d heard that Karasuno was on a decline.”

“It was indeed on a decline for the past few years,” Sawamura confirmed, twisting the plastic cap open, “but we’re going to get it back on track. Well, we were going to try to do it anyway, but having people like those two first-years on the team now – it’s going to be our year. They’re really something, aren’t they?”

“A blessing, huh.”

“A real surprise blessing,” Sawamura repeated, nodding. He drank from the bottle, emptying half of it in one go, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jersey.

Kuroo crossed his arms and scanned the court. Some of the other players were resting, just like them; others were still practising drills in preparation for the next game. “There’s this game that I play with the members of other teams whenever we have a practice match – well, don’t think of it as a game – just more of a fun brainteaser. If I said I’d willingly trade any of my team members for yours, who would you pick?”

Sawamura smiled at him. “Are you sure that’s not just another way of getting me to tell you which members of our teams are the good ones, and which members need more work?”

“You’ve caught me,” Kuroo replied slyly.

“Well, if I were going to give you a serious answer,” Sawamura said, turning to look at the teams now, “I’d say that I wouldn’t change the line-up of either team. Both of them have a good balance – I can’t speak for Nekoma, but I think both teams are good just the way that they are. There’s a lot more that our team needs to work on, and several of the members are lacking technically, but there’s so much potential to draw out from them, both as individuals and as a group, that I’m reluctant to say that I would let any of them go. And wouldn’t you say the same for yours? There’s such a distinct harmony to the way that you play that I have to say that I’m almost envious.” Then he turned to look at Kuroo. “Then, what about you? I don’t think it’s fair that I’m the only one offering an opinion.”

Kuroo considered the question for a moment. For a second or two he recalled shaking Sawamura’s hands earlier in the morning and how he just didn’t want to let go because it felt like doing so would be an admission of loss. It was probably how Sawamura had felt, too, given the firm, unyielding grip on Kuroo’s fingers that had nearly threatened to snap each phalange right off if Kuroo wasn’t careful. He grinned, and then he told Sawamura, half-jokingly, just because Sawamura didn’t answer his question to his satisfaction (even though he’d answered it so sincerely), “Solid receives, good game sense, a stabilising presence. I’d pick you.”


	2. double contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 2: first times.

2.

It wasn’t actually until they met again (for the third time) at training camp in summer that Kuroo realised that perhaps things might veer off into uncharted territory. If you examined the trajectory of their interaction, which wasn’t even something that you could compare to a friendship, merely some kind of loose camaraderie based on some semblance of the shared vision of playing together at a national volleyball tournament, all for the sake of a decades-long high school sports legacy, then there was absolutely nothing along the way that could have predicted that they were going to jerk each other off in the equipment room in the premises at 1 a.m. in the morning.

Through his astute powers of observation, Kuroo came to the conclusion that Sawamura had an extremely sensitive body. It wasn’t just because Sawamura was trying to hold back his voice as Kuroo wrapped his hand around both their cocks and stroked while Sawamura balanced himself back against a stack of gym mats, feet planted wide apart on the dusty concrete floor, shorts stretched along the open girth of his thighs; it was also because Sawamura would make those noises if Kuroo so much as grazed his kneecap against the inside of Sawamura’s thigh, or accidentally brushed his bare palm against the skin on Sawamura’s arm, just below where the sleeve of his t-shirt ended, as he leveraged himself against the untidy heap of mats supporting Sawamura’s back. It made Kuroo think of how Sawamura had dealt with all those receives earlier that day, during their practice match. He’d caught most of them steadily in that valley of space between his forearms. Kuroo was, most fortunately, born with thick skin, so handling receives from fierce, hard spikes were not a problem for him, but this made him wonder how long it’d taken Sawamura to get used to the chafing.

“Got a girlfriend?” he asked, looking downwards, and not at Sawamura. Probably not, but you never knew. Sawamura seemed pent-up.

“What? No,” Sawamura panted, one hand gripping Kuroo’s shoulder tightly for balance, as if worried that his legs would give out. “No time.”

When they eventually came, within seconds of each other, the complete absurdity of the idea of fucking around with the captain of a rival team while they were cleaning up finally hit Kuroo. He stared down at the mess between their bodies and realised that there wasn’t anywhere to wipe his hand, so he pulled apart from Sawamura and wiped himself off on the hem of his t-shirt. He would have to change out into another one before he went to bed. Sawamura tucked himself back into his shorts and laughed awkwardly, which was a side to him Kuroo was sure he hadn’t seen yet. He was always so sure of himself when they were playing.

“We’re done here, I guess,” Sawamura said, sheepish. “It was a good thing we more or less put all the stuff in place before – well.”

“Stressed?” Kuroo hazarded a guess, raising an eyebrow. “Or not so much, now?”

“Not really. But that did take the edge off a little,” Sawamura admitted. The exertion was still apparent in his voice. It was already August and it was time to look ahead to October, but the erstwhile memories of being held back in the Interhigh preliminaries were still fresh in Kuroo’s mind as well. He didn’t want top eight in Tokyo. They’d have to do better, too.

“Well, if you like, we can do this anytime,” he joked, and from behind him he heard Sawamura snort, “Thanks for the offer,” as he pushed past the heavy doors and left the room. “Bring your friends,” he added after Sawamura.

The next morning Sawamura was up by six. He was eating breakfast in the cafeteria with the other Karasuno third-years as Kuroo made his way to the showers, bath towel slung over one shoulder.

“You guys sure are an energetic bunch,” he called out, waving in their direction. The setter waved back and the one with the beard smiled at him nervously. It was more of a grimace than anything.

“Gotta be in tip-top condition,” Sawamura said, matter-of-fact, dissecting the grilled mackerel with his chopsticks. That was indeed a turn of phrase only a country bumpkin could say without feeling self-conscious, Kuroo thought.

That night, which was the second-last night of the joint training camp, which was the second and last time they would jerk each other off during the camp, they did it in the same place, which was to say, in the dark mustiness of the equipment room, where, once again with the blessing of the ubiquitous gym mats, they decided that it was fitting to have a repeat performance of what had transpired yesterday. The difference this time was that Sawamura was surer when he pulled Kuroo towards himself after returning the nets where they should be, fingers curling into the fabric of the black cotton tee like he wanted to leave it permanently stretched-out afterwards. Afterwards Sawamura looked so focused with his hands braced on Kuroo’s hips that Kuroo wanted to laugh, but something told him that it probably wasn’t appropriate for the occasion. During the day he’d entertained himself enough by returning at least eighty percent of Bokuto’s spikes and teasing the tall bespectacled guy on Sawamura’s team, so this was like a nice bonus.


	3. cut shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 3: travel.

3.

“I heard that someone got their tooth knocked out during the preliminaries,” Kuroo began.

“Hah. Where’d you hear that from?”

Kuroo snuck a glance over at the far end of the very long table, where Hinata was still recounting to Kenma and Lev every single detail of every match that Karasuno had played at the end of last year. He’d read (in Volleyball Monthly) about how Karasuno beat Shiratorizawa with a series of close shutouts that were nothing short of miraculous in the final of three tightly-contested games, but Hinata’s account was embellished with all sorts of incomprehensible sound effects that Kenma seemed to be trying to make sense of – judging by the puzzled look on his face – and Hinata’s voice floated over the tinny sounds of cutlery tapping against plates and the loud, raucous conversations that were the specialty of rowdy high school boys. Someone else down the row asked for yet another serving of rice.

“To be honest, the gap left behind makes my whole mouth feel weird. It’s already been a few months and I’m still not used to it. I mean, that tooth wasn’t tiny, for sure,” Sawamura continued levelly, staring down the dishes in front of him, chopsticks hovering in mid-air as if he couldn’t decide what to eat. Sweet and sour pork? Karaage? “But it also makes me think of how it got knocked out in the first place. Kind of like a permanent reminder of what I’m here to do, now.” In the end he picked the pumpkin tempura. “And since it’s permanent, I’m probably going to remember it forever if we lose here. When you think about it, that’s about as effective as reminders get, don’t you think? Ones that you can’t get rid of.”

Kuroo stared at Sawamura’s mouth discreetly as Sawamura chewed. He hadn’t remembered kissing Sawamura then, almost half a year ago in the training grounds in Saitama – no, they most definitely hadn’t. But he could remember resting his face in the crook between Sawamura’s neck and shoulder then and that was the last time he saw it up close. He wondered if Sawamura ever thought about that like he did, just sometimes, not in the expectation that it would ever happen again, of course, just like a passing thought, a jolt out of the blue.

It was two days before the Spring High was due to begin and Karasuno had travelled to Tokyo in advance. Their coaches and advisors had suggested that the two teams have a gathering, just to unwind a bit before the big day, and a meal was the best idea anyone could come up with on short notice, especially for such a large group. (“Tell your grandfather to come watch the match when we meet in the competition, if he can manage it,” came Coach Nekomata’s voice from the adjacent table, jovial and teasing, “but if it’s too much for his creaky bones, then he should probably stay put in Miyagi.”) Besides, it was probably be too much pressure to have the teams play each other just days before the tournament. It was only when they exited the cramped, cosy space of the restaurant afterwards that they all remembered how deathly cold the weather had gotten – it was mid-January, after all, and it was sheer luck that the residents of Tokyo hadn’t all been snowed-in yet.

“We were thinking of doing some sightseeing,” Sugawara said cheerfully as they crowded around the entrance, face rapidly reddening from the sudden chill, “so I guess this is where we part!”

“Okay, but I’m sure _this_ one is Tokyo Tower,” someone commented in the background.

“Congratulations on making it to Nationals,” Kuroo told Sawamura as the two teams prepared to go their separate ways. He had no idea what Karasuno’s plans were for the next two days, but Nekoma was having one final practice session that evening. “If everything goes according to plan, we’ll meet in the quarterfinals. Not as grand as a final showdown would have been, but don’t let those penalties you got over summer go to waste. I don’t want to have herded your baby crows for nothing.”

“You look positively sadistic, you know that? The corners of your eyes are curling up,” Sawamura said, breaths puffing into smoke, but it didn’t sound like sarcasm, merely a good-natured remark. His hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of his windbreaker and a scarf that looked distinctly like the sort only mothers could knit for their sons sat around his neck like a fat, content, woolly brown snake. “Don’t worry about that. We beat the number one school in our prefecture to get here, so we’re not going to let that go to waste, either.” Then, before he turned to trail the rest of his team, he followed up with, “Congratulations on making it to Nationals, too.”


	4. deep set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 4: confessions.

4.

Three weeks later Volleyball Monthly would publish its annual two hundred-paged special issue containing a hefty section highlighting the various feats of the high school volleyball players who came together from all over the country to compete in the Spring High. There would be a three-page interview with the winners, Itachiyama, a two-page interview with the runners-up, Karasuno, and a bracket tracking how far each of the schools got, where one could see clearly that Nekoma lost in the quarterfinals, conceding two sets after taking the first one. Kuroo noticed that he was, at least, featured in a column introducing the best middle blockers in the tournament.

He called Sawamura out of goodwill after reading the interview. Magazine in hand, he read from the passage, phone on speaker mode, in a very sombre tone of voice, “ _We’re very proud that we have come this far, even if we have disappointingly missed out on the position of overall champion. Many years ago, our seniors bore the name of this small school from the northeastern part of the country on their shirts and came to the capital to compete on the national stage. Every member on the team is honoured to have carried on that tradition. As the captain, I hope that the underclassmen will be able to continue it and strive for even better results._ Sawamura, you couldn’t have sounded more like a balding middle-aged man if you tried. You sound like a government representative.”

“I meant every word of that, you know. Didn’t Itachiyama’s captain say something similar? I’m sure you’d say something like that if you were in second place, too. Hope you’re not making fun of me just because we beat you and went ahead.”

“You’re actually a total bore, aren’t you,” Kuroo thought aloud.

“Well, I’ve come to accept myself for who I am.”

“Do you actually need a reason to make fun of someone?” Kuroo continued, skipping over what Sawamura said. “Well, I have to say that I’m miffed on the behalf of our coach, who was expecting a good word with all of you after the finals –”

“Sorry. The award ceremony dragged on for so long that we had to rush to the train station. Those tickets cost money, you know, we couldn’t let them go to waste. And besides, didn’t he make a phone call to Coach Ukai afterwards?”

“– but at least that gives me an excuse to call you and complain about that. And also to read that ridiculous speech of yours aloud to you, so you can realise what it actually sounded like.”

“So you like the feeling of someone leaving you hanging?” Sawamura said, laughing. It was a laugh that Kuroo remembered hearing from Sawamura after he’d listened to a particularly bad joke that he tried to pretend wasn’t bad, the kind of hearty, embarrassed laugh you’d hear from someone watching a terrible comedy on television. “What a masochist.”

Kuroo was slightly taken aback. This wasn’t the kind of thing he’d expected Sawamura to say, and to be honest, he wasn’t sure if Sawamura was joking. Kuroo thought of him as a pretty straightforward person.

Before he could think of a response that would be appropriate under both circumstances, however, Sawamura cleared his throat.

“Okay, gotta go. I’ve got to say, the tournament really took up quite a bit of our time, didn’t it? Now I’ve really got to work extra hard for the college admission exams.” He paused. “Till next time, then. Good luck with your exams as well.”

The year before, Kuroo went out with a girl in his year for a few months. They called it off just before their last year in high school because she was in the fast-track college preparatory class and he wanted to focus on bringing the volleyball club to Nationals. He distinctly remembered that she liked it when he said the most viciously awful things that he could think of. Maybe she just had the same odd sense of humour as he did. Not many people did.


	5. assist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 5: distance.

5.

Kenma’s hair had started to grow too long to flatter the shape of his face – jawline still tragically lined with baby fat at the ripe old age of eighteen – so he trimmed it in time for when school began. Now it’d grown a little longer again. The roots had grown out to the point that instead of looking like a dye job, his hair just looked like it’d gone through a very lazy, unprofessional dip-dye performed by an incompetent hairdresser.

“I like it just fine,” he said, sounding slightly hard-done-by when Kuroo heckled him about it. “I don’t want to damage my hair too much… I’ll dye it again when I get another haircut.”

It was already June and Kuroo was two months into his first year at university, just barely managing to keep his head above the never-ending assault of readings and assignments and extracurricular activities. He was playing volleyball for the college club now, and after dinner he’d have to take the train back towards Chiyoda for practice. This was the first time he’d seen Kenma in weeks, because he lived in the dormitories now for convenience’s sake, but Kenma was, as ever, way more interested in his Game of the Month now that they were both done with their food.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how school is going,” Kuroo simpered, leaning just slightly forward across the table, and watched Kenma – who was sitting across from him in the booth – retreat just the same distance in return, out of reflex. It made him feel like a parent desperate to reconnect with an estranged child. “How’s everyone at the club doing?”

Kenma’s eyes strayed from the screen of his Nintendo 3DS to look up at Kuroo momentarily, then flickered back to whatever he was paying attention to. “Those two new first-years I told you about the other time aren’t too bad. I guess we have a better chance at the Interhigh this year.”

“It’s not ‘chance’. You guys make sure you go to the Interhigh. I’m going to call Yamamoto personally to remind him.”

“And after that,” Kenma continued, thumbs moving frantically, still not looking up, “Shouyou says… Shouyou says that maybe they’ll come to camp again this summer.”

The waitress came around to top up their glasses of cold green tea. “Is that so,” Kuroo contemplated. “I can’t imagine they’ll still be as much of a force to reckon with, now that the third-years are gone. Well, still, they’ve got that _crazy_ good setter, and I don’t think shorty’s quitting the team anytime soon. Hey, don’t look upset, you’re a great setter too. Any idea who the new captain is?”

Kenma shrugged. “I don’t know. But since Coach Nekomata retired, Coach Naoi’s hands are a little full. I’m not really up to telling him, but he looks a little lost sometimes. I think he may ask you to come over and help take a look at the team, if you have the time.”

If memory served, it merely took half an hour to get from Chiyoda to Saitama. It wouldn’t be much of a hassle to take just half a day off to get there and watch the kids play and give them some advice, even assuming that, two months from now, his summer holiday schedule would be extremely packed. From Miyagi – from Miyagi all the way down to Saitama, though, that was a different story. The single trip alone would take up approximately three hours’ time, and Kuroo couldn’t imagine the average person taking the time to do this, assuming that they were so very busy with their own lives.

“Will you come?” Kenma asked.

“Maybe,” said Kuroo.


	6. centre line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 6: holidays.

6.

“Oiii. Tsukki. Oiiiiiii,” he called out. He’d spotted Tsukishima walking into the gymnasium as he approached the training grounds, but Tsukishima just shot him a scathing look from behind his glasses, like he’d seen something disgusting, and disappeared. “Don’t ignore me.”

Sawamura was standing at the back of the gym, watching.

“How did you know?” Sawamura asked in return when Kuroo said, “I knew you’d be here.” His arms were folded and Kuroo was bluffing. He was just guessing.

“What was that you said,” Kuroo pretended to jog his memory, making a show of narrowing his eyes as he did a few warm-up stretches, “‘continuing a tradition’? You’re an honest guy. So you’re easy to read.”

Sugawara was there too – both he and Sawamura were on summer break, just like Kuroo was, having enrolled in universities in Miyagi; Azumane was the only one who couldn’t take time off from work. They’d already arrived the day before. You really had to hand it to them for sheer dedication. Kuroo spent his entire afternoon observing the other schools (because Yamamoto, for all his newfound bravado as team captain, was still not the sharpest tool in the shed), putting Lev through a series of drills from hell (as Kenma watched dispassionately from the sidelines), attempting to make Tsukishima lose his cool (which, unfortunately, did not happen); and then when he got tired of all that he lured Sawamura off to the boys’ bathroom on the pretext of serious discussion. Sawamura followed him without much question and Kuroo kissed him in one of the stalls. Doing it gave him the familiar, almost exciting feeling of being a high school student again, when there were things that just felt conventionally and thrillingly off-limits, and he hadn’t been one for a few months now.

Initially he was worried about being rejected – this came one year too late after all and one wondered how he’d play that off if it did happen – he didn’t really plan ahead – but it seemed like he wasn’t the only person who didn’t mind a follow-up. So it worked out. The kiss was probably one of the best he’d had in a while. He circled his arms around Sawamura’s waist and it felt like his core muscles had gotten better than they were last year. He hadn’t asked Sawamura if he was still playing volleyball in college, but presumably, he was. He thought about how Sawamura had a missing tooth and how Sawamura was probably still mindful of that missing tooth when he saved (calmly and assuredly) that last spike that Kai had sent over the net, which then turned into the final point for Karasuno as Kageyama sent it right down the right side of their court, right at the uppermost corner. That was how Nekoma had gotten eliminated back then and he was pretty mad not being able to return that ball. Now it pleased him to know that that hollow gap was probably within the vicinity of his fingertips, where he now held Sawamura’s face in his hands, the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow lightly grazing the skin of his finger pads. He always felt it was weird how Sawamura kept his sideburns that long, like an old fogey. He wasn’t even past the age of twenty, after all. But somehow it suited him and his wise, old, steady, boring soul.

Over the past couple of years Kuroo had somehow developed the terrible habit of kissing with his eyes open. A few of the people he’d dated told him it was creepy, but there was something to be said about observing what people were like when they were kissing you. Sawamura was the type to trust his partner one hundred percent and Kuroo particularly liked how absorbed and unguarded he looked now, eyes closed, head tilting up to meet him.

“You know, we really could have gotten to this a lot quicker if you’d just said so,” he mused, momentarily recalling the brief, exciting saga of the Shinzen High Volleyball Club equipment room. Never mind that he didn’t ask Sawamura himself.

“I had other more important things to do. Will you shut up,” Sawamura told him, sounding annoyed. His eyes fluttered open slightly and his brows creased in exasperation and his grip on the back of Kuroo’s shirt tightened, so Kuroo went along with it.

When they broke apart, Kuroo asked, still a little lightheaded, trying to keep his breathing under control, “Still no girlfriend?”

“Well, my mother’s setting me up with her best friend’s daughter. We might get engaged next spring,” Sawamura said, taking in a series of slow, deep breaths, and the surprise must have shown on his face, if only for a split second, because Sawamura quickly continued with, “I’m just screwing with you.” He really could never tell when Sawamura was trying to rile him up, even though he knew that Sawamura was fully capable of it. It was probably because Sawamura seemed to be so genuine all the time. It really drove him crazy.

“You know what? Right now, I’m regretting not bringing any condoms with me,” he said, mostly teasing, slightly serious, reaching downwards to play with the elastic band of Sawamura’s shorts. Gently he nudged his knee up against where Sawamura’s shorts were starting to tent. He was still wearing his protective kneepads so he couldn’t tell exactly how hard Sawamura had gotten.

“What are you talking about? There are minors on the premises,” replied Sawamura, in a tone fit for a PTA representative.

“So if there weren’t any minors, you’d let me talk about it?”

“You and your sophistry,” Sawamura grumbled, but the telltale shadow between his brows was nowhere to be found, so he was probably not upset by what Kuroo was doing, trying to get under his skin that way. “Are you just going to keep talking nonsense, or are you going to help me take care of this? You started it, after all.” And after he said that his face and neck turned an unflattering shade of crimson, which somehow had the bizarre effect of making him seem suddenly and wildly attractive. He hadn’t asked so politely last year.

Then they took care of it.

He had practice the next day, so he had to return to the dorms that evening. Before that, he delivered a five-minute pep talk to his alma mater and told Yamamoto to remember to conduct the pre-match ritual properly. (“It’s even more embarrassing when Yamamoto does it,” Kenma had said, in a regretful tone of voice.) _Call me,_ he mouthed in Sawamura’s direction, catching his eye as he left a few minutes later, but judging from the puzzled, amused look that Sawamura gave him, both of them knew that it was said in jest; there was no way Sawamura was going to call him just to make small talk.

He saw that Bokuto had sent him a message when he finally got back to the privacy of his room, almost an hour later. Still sweaty, he fell backwards onto his bed without a care, and read it. The message read, _Are you sure you can’t take a few hours off tomorrow?? It’s not gonna be fun badgering those kids without you!!!_

 _Don’t sound so sure,_ he typed in response, feeling suitably and satisfactorily worn out, _they’re a lot of fun by themselves._ His mind was still whirling.


	7. closing the block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 7: free choice.

7.

Sawamura Daichi was born the older of two children in a middle-income household in a suburban town approximately 200 kilometres north of Sendai, on the 31st of December, 1995. His father ran a textile shop and his mother was a housewife who helped out with the store sometimes. His younger brother was a whopping eight years younger than he was, and his parents, who were, apparently, both of mild temperament, were exceptionally proud of him because he was the second person in their family to go to college, after one of his uncles. He preferred simple, hearty comfort food like ramen and oden, and his favourite subjects were mathematics and history. Currently, he was majoring in computer science at university.

This was the extent of what Kuroo knew about Sawamura, now. Well, he also knew that Sawamura was especially sensitive behind his ears, that Sawamura’s hands were slightly stockier than his own, and so were his arms and his waist and his legs, and that he had a horrible temper that manifested should the right conditions be met (hearsay from Sawamura’s old volleyball teammates themselves). It was fast approaching October and Sawamura was coming to Tokyo for class for a week, as part of an exchange with another school.

“If you have time,” Sawamura asked over the phone, instead of texting, and Kuroo suspected this was because Sawamura was the kind of person who didn’t take well to the impersonality of text messages, “I have some free time on Saturday evening, for the week that I’ll be coming over. If you would like to have dinner.”

“Let me check,” Kuroo said. He did have the time. He just didn’t want to reveal the fact too quickly.

“Where are you staying for the week?” he continued, and Sawamura, perhaps sensing that the topic was about to go elsewhere, shut him down with, “We rented a room from a hostel.”

They agreed to meet at the entrance of a shopping street that was home to a rather renowned teishoku restaurant. Kuroo was already thinking about the mackerel pike by the time he got there. The weather wasn’t cold enough for sweaters yet, bordering on the high tens and low twenties. When Sawamura arrived, emerging from within the noisy, milling evening crowd, he was wearing an outfit that would make a country club regular proud – a polo tee and khakis, with a homemade cardigan knotted around his shoulders. Somehow it made Kuroo think of mounted fish on the walls of a rich man’s house.

Oh no, Kuroo thought. It was coming up again, that urge to shoot his mouth off. Unfortunately he wasn’t able to stop it.

“Has anybody told you that you dress like a tourist for the entire week that you’ve been here?” he asked, by way of greeting. “I hope that nobody’s tried to scam you of your money.”

Sawamura looked at him, eyes wide, seemingly stunned. Then his face relaxed, much to Kuroo’s relief.

“Why don’t you give me a few tips, then?” he said. He sounded terribly self-satisfied and there was a triumphant grin painted wide across his face. It was a perfect receive, like always. “You look like you know a thing or two.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! please check out the [kurodai week tumblr](http://kurodai-week.tumblr.com/) for the many other amazing fanworks that were submitted!!! :D


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